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<title>an eventual sonic absence by transitoire (entremelement)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612559">an eventual sonic absence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/entremelement/pseuds/transitoire'>transitoire (entremelement)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>semantics of affection [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Karasuno Match</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:22:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/entremelement/pseuds/transitoire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><i>T minus eleven hours and holding,</i> Iwaizumi thinks, as desolation engulfs him. He thinks of how astronauts could willingly withstand loss—of gravity and definite footing, of sunrises and sunsets, of things earthlings got used to. <i>T minus eleven hours and holding, briefly, we wait for an address before pressing on.</i></p>
</blockquote>Iwaizumi takes a future vacancy like the distance between galaxies: silent, overbearing and insufferably empty.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>semantics of affection [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>an eventual sonic absence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Guess who’s back (back, back) back again!!!</p><p>Still from the prompt, everyone! This time, the particular prompt’s “things you said that I wish you hadn’t.” After quite a bit of editing, I’m surprised that this ended up being more verbose than the previous drabbles. Oh well. Lots of things to be said about space. (Before I forget, a fair warning: lots of heavy-handed, possibly misplaced space analogies)</p><p>Let me know what you think!!! I’m also on <a>Twitter</a>!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So listen,” Oikawa stuffs his painful croak down, attempting to maintain composure. Weeping as a team (a stark contrast to bright paint forming corners on hardwood, teal banners strewn on railings) wasn’t what they expected upon certain arrival at their home court. All this chaos, right after they’d suffered an unbearable loss in the hands of Karasuno, is the only way things could have gone. “As your captain, I feel like I need to say something. I put my total trust in all of you and none of you broke that. I’m so proud of you all.”</p><p>Kindaichi grimaces and sniffs, crestfallen, and Kyotani, the fiercest out of all of them, feels his rabid tendencies drain from his eyes. Kunimi does not budge, quiet contemplation still dwelling within him as he maps out his vivid future, of him bearing the weight and expectation of ushering his team to nationals. Iwaizumi could do nothing but to stare at Oikawa, tears still in his eyes, a towel draped over his head. When it casts shadows on his face, he is reminded of how simple loss could have been when it doesn’t entail permanence, a closing chapter. </p><p><em> T minus eleven hours and holding, </em> Iwaizumi thinks, as desolation engulfs him. He thinks of how astronauts could willingly withstand loss—of gravity and definite footing, of sunrises and sunsets, of things earthlings got used to. <em> T minus eleven hours and holding, briefly, we wait for an address before pressing on. </em></p><p>Loss is a thing to reckon. What a team collectively acknowledges: grief in its certainty, an image of a narrow passageway completely shut off by fate, or ill-preparation. Sometimes, it’s both. Or perhaps, fate does not take kindly to a select few unfortunate enough to merit its wrath. All these factors marinate quietly in their heads, causing a stir.</p><p>Oikawa rarely ever speaks up in conclusion. In the muffled, tearful silence surrounding him, he carries a grace that could only be perceived as strength by most, but Iwaizumi thinks otherwise. </p><p>Their only shot at being in the Nationals is shattered into pieces by the crows. Wrestled violently from their grasp. </p><p>When captains address the team, especially upon closure of a turbulent string of events, it’s always to soothe—self-pity thrown into the breadth of the stratosphere. It’s left to linger, to wash over them, this lesson in perseverance, the test of fortitude. </p><p>A twist: Iwaizumi does not feel the atmospheric pressure today. Oikawa delivering a pep-talk of sorts still registers as ominous to Iwaizumi. <em> This feels different.</em></p><p>“Additionally,” Oikawa begins his tear-filled address, and Iwaizumi’s cheek visibly twitches. <em> Here it is. It’s coming. </em></p><p>The team falls silent. No sniffles, no groaning, not even a sign of a whimper. This nagging feeling that Iwaizumi could be thrown into a void any second now is overwhelming, and his gut twists in anticipation of what Oikawa could sputter out.</p><p>“I thank you all for my three years, truly.”</p><p>
  <em> Brace yourself for it, Hajime. </em>
</p><p>“After Iwa-chan and I graduate, I’ll be.. Well..” A beat.</p><p>
  <em> The impact is always hard at first, and whatever this is, Oikawa might as well get it over with. Space is already insufferably silent, why must he pluck its overhead quiet and deliver it to us? </em>
</p><p>Oikawa breathes in deeply. After what seems to be a decade to Iwaizumi, he releases the pent-up tension. “I’ll be off to Argentina. I’ll still play volleyball, don’t worry! But I’ll try my hand at being in the Argentine League.” The team takes a five-second beat. Oh, they’re stunned, but they were expecting something along the lines of <em> I’m quitting volleyball </em> or something or other, not this. It didn’t take long for all of them, including those who’d already made a home out of the silence, to dive in for an embrace—a messy, weepy unfiltered reaction. </p><p>Except Iwaizumi. He’s met with his own quiet resignation, an unwilling launch into the unknown.</p><p>
  <em> So this is what space feels like.  </em>
</p>
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